anything but ordinary

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Sending her off into the unknown.

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.” -Franklin D. Roosevelt

My oldest started kindergarten earlier this month. The anticipation for this momentous day had been building all summer. And by building, I mean me excitedly and confidently telling my daughter, everyday prior to THE day,  just how much of a big deal the first day would be.

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My first day of kindergarten or first grade. c.1982 hence the grainy photo.

I don’t know how it is for most, but I’ve definitely been the type to get excited for summer’s end with a fresh start to a new school year.  The weather starts changing to pleasant temperatures. If you are lucky like me, your mother takes you back-to-school shopping for supplies and more importantly, some fun new clothes to wear. You look forward to seeing all those school friends you haven’t seen all summer.  New teachers, new classes and new books to crack open.

After high school, my back-to-school season excitement continued in college with the anticipation of moving into a new dormitory, receiving the fall semester paper course catalogue (I know I’m dating myself) and me happily choosing classes according to their course descriptions. Football games, homecoming, and more new textbooks to dive into. Even after university, once I entered the art world workforce, the fall season was always filled with anticipatory emotions. Refreshed from summer holiday, my coworkers and I were back at it installing the fall exhibition and gallery hopping from opening to opening those first weeks in September. The city was abuzz and bubbling with art talk and I couldn’t help getting caught up in it all.

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Outfit, check. Backpack, check. Lunch bag, check. Ready for the big day!

Although grade school, university and gallery life is in my past, this time of year never fails to lift my spirits. And, I can happily say this level of enthusiasm has been passed down to my daughter. We have poured over catalogues and clicked through pages of online stores to find the perfect backpack and lunch box. We spent a good hour putting together the perfect first-day-of-school outfit. We had dozens and dozens of conversations about the school bus ride, her new teacher, lunch in the cafeteria, and meeting new classmates.

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After hours in her kindergarten classroom—bright, inviting and full of stuff!

I would ask her from time to time, are you nervous? excited? scared??? The answer was always excited, excited, excited.  And right there it is. My daughter has an assuredness I never had. All of five-years-old, and she embraces the unknown. Yes, I loved the start of a new school year, but at five-years-old I remember how awkward, shy and nervous I felt to be doing something on my own without my mother’s confident hand.  I can’t say I saw or felt a moment where my daughter wasn’t ready. She hopped on that bus to a new school with a quick good-bye. She sat down to class ready even though she knew not what to expect or what her teacher and classmates would be like. She left beaming with a smile on her face and came home with an even bigger smile full of enthusiasm of what will be her new routine.  She gives me courage.

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Which brings me to a new book my daughter and I have read over and over again these last few weeks, Anything But Ordinary Addie: The True Story of Adelaide Herrmann, Queen of Magic written by Mara Rockliff and illustrated by Iacopo Bruno.

My daughter’s interest of late has been magic after watching some YouTube videos on the subject. This book was a perfect find at our town library.

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It tells of the true story of Adelaide Herrmann one of the first female magicians.  Its beautiful illustrations brilliantly depict the ambitions of a young girl who was “anything but ordinary” and wanted to do and be something great. She aspired to “astonish, shock and dazzle” her audiences. She did just that becoming a master magician and entertainer.

My daughter truly loves flipping through the book for the pictures. She told me the illustrations remind her of paper doll cutouts. I love how vibrant each illustration is providing a unique format to tell the story of Ms. Herrmann.

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This is an empowering story for young girls. It celebrates a brave, determined girl who becomes an accomplished woman in a male-dominated profession. Ms. Herrmann never let anyone tell her she couldn’t because of her gender. She conquered her anxieties at a moment when she knew it was important for her to push through the fear for a greater good. Ms. Herrmann reminds me a lot of someone I know.

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My brave, beautiful one.

 

do the sorrow songs sing true

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The one who taught me best; me and my mother, 1980.

“Through all the sorrow of the Sorrow Songs there breathes a hope—a faith in the ultimate justice of things. The minor cadences of despair change often to triumph and calm confidence. Sometimes it is faith in life, sometimes a faith in death, sometimes assurance of boundless justice in some fair world beyond. But whichever it is, the meaning is always clear: that sometime, somewhere, men will judge men by their souls and not by their skins. Is such a hope justified? Do the Sorrow Songs sing true?” —W.E.B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folks: Chapter XIV. The Song of Sorrows

I had intended to write this post on inconsequential musings of my life; my little world here in the mountains.  But events beyond the keep of home have arrested me and left me thinking the inconsequential should be written for another time.

I have known racism. If you are person of color, you have known racism. Being spat at as a child for having a white mother. Being called the n-word at the neighbhorhood playground as an adolescent.  Being told I wasn’t Black enough in college. Being refused as a potential tenant for an apartment by a white landlord because of my skin color. I have known racism.

You feel it to the core when confronted with racist acts. Anger. Deep anguish. An emotional aching so visceral your body shakes. But I have not personally known the violence of hate in the way I have seen in the news this week.

Today I’m going to close out the world’s events and shield my young daughters from the violence.  There will be a day when they too are confronted with these images. A day when they question why their Mama is darker skinned than they are—if it matters, why it matters. A day when a friend might ask them, “Is that your mommy?”, and all that implies. But today won’t be that day. Today I’m going to be selfish and retreat to my family. Snuggle, read stories, make s’mores, laugh at dad jokes.

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Me and my daughters, 2016.

Yes, I know I am the fortunate one.  I have a husband and daughters to come home to. My heart aches from the images I have seen. I am eager for change. I am disheartened at how much has not changed but I am hopeful for my daughters. Because I am certain we can drive out hate by nurturing our own and showing them that acts of compassion and benevolence are the ways out of ignorance.